


Internal

by Tosie



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Biphobia, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Lesbophobia, Lesbian Character, Making Out, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Rationalizations, Rule 63, Useless Lesbians, it's not a sin if there's no dick right?, that's how it works i'm pretty sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tosie/pseuds/Tosie
Summary: A close call pushes Rorschach to act on her feelings for her partner, but they hit some stumbling blocks along the way (specifically, self-hatred and internalized lesbophobia).Rating might go up, if I decide to try writing smut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newly edited chapter one! Chapter two will hopefully be up in the next couple of days.
> 
> I didn't change much of the actual content, but I added a bit to the kitchen conversation.

“You...wanna come upstairs for a bit?”

Danielle holds her breath as the invitation hangs in the air. She hadn’t meant to ask  _ tonight _ . Figures if there’s any person you want to go slow with, it’s Rorschach.

“...Sure,” comes the response, surprising both of them.

* * *

_ One hour earlier _

Rorschach ducked a vicious swipe from a broken bottle and swung one leg around, sweeping her attacker’s feet out from under them. The thug landed hard on his back and groaned. Rorschach looked around. A moment ago she had been surrounded by at least three unruly youths spoiling for a fight, but now the alleyway was empty and silent except for her own harsh breathing and the soft moaning of the katiehead at her feet.

Where was Nite Owl?

Rorschach could have sworn she’d been right behind her as they turned the corner into this alley, but now there was no sign of her. Or the other gang members.

A gunshot.

Rorschach took off, back in the direction she’d come from, felled criminal forgotten in an instant.

A block away and she skidded to a halt. Blood. Not a lot, but there’s a dark splash on the ground, and a trail of droplets leading back towards where they’d left Archie. Rorschach thought she might have heard footsteps pattering, the attackers running away, but it was difficult to tell over the sound of her own pulse roaring in her ears. She pulled her mask up over her nose to make it easier to breathe and ran again, following the drips of blood.

They took her to Archie. Rorshach didn’t pause for breath as she grabbed onto the side and propelled herself through the open door.

Nite Owl was leaning against the far wall, pulling gauze out of a first aid kit and pressing it against a small gash below her elbow. She was giggling, coming down from the adrenaline high.

“Sorry, I think—I put the first aid kit on the console, I think the guns went off. I hope I didn’t—” Rorschach strode forward, grabbed Nite Owl’s face with both hands, stared at her for several seconds, and kissed her.

* * *

Danielle pours some coffee into a mug and puts it down on the kitchen table in front of Rorschach. She sets the bag of sugar cubes next to it and pours herself a steaming mugful before sitting down in the chair opposite her partner.

“Thanks for the—” she lifts her elbow, the delicate row of stitches in her forearm pulling slightly with the motion. “You know how annoying it is, trying to do your own arm.” Both of them carry unevenly healed scars from the days before they’d partnered up.

Rorschach nods after a moment, but doesn’t say anything, instead pulling off her gloves and dropping several sugar cubes into her coffee with a series of small  _ plops _ .

Danielle watches, brow creasing slightly.

“I’m really sorry for worrying you, back there,” she says—although seeing Rorscach drinking the sugary coffee makes her remember the way her lips tasted slightly sweet, and Danielle finds she can’t actually  _ regret _ the way events had transpired that evening.

Rorschach looks down. “I...my fault. Should have known better, wasn’t thinking straight. Not enough blood for you to—” she grips her mug hard. “...for anything serious to have happened.”

Danielle smiles, ducking her head to meet Rorschach’s gaze through the mask. “You don’t have to apologize for caring.” An expression she can’t place flits over Rorschach’s face, so quickly she nearly doesn’t see it. Emboldened, Danielle reaches for her hand where it rests on the table.

For a moment her hand rests tentatively on her partner’s, and then Rorschach tenses, pulling away. Danielle opens her mouth to apologize, but she’s cut off by a sudden declaration.

“I’m a girl.”

Danielle frowns. “So am I? I don’t—” Understanding dawns and her eyes widen. “Oh! Rorschach, I—you thought I didn’t know that?”

Rorschach lets out a breath and slides down in her seat a little, hunched in on herself. “Wasn’t sure,” she admits sheepishly. She lifts her head again, looking concerned. “Not... _ obvious _ , is it?” she asks, anxious. Danielle laughs (reassuringly, she hopes).

“No, I don’t think so. Not to other people.” She smiles warmly. (She can’t seem to  _ stop _ smiling.) “But once we started partnering up and I was around you all the time, I realized pretty quickly.” She makes a face. “Also, you steal my tampons.”

The lower half of Rorschach’s face reddens. Danielle finds it adorable.

“Anyway, I never said anything because I figured you’d have told me early on if you wanted me to know. And it didn’t matter to me.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, sipping and slurping their coffee.

“So it’s not...a problem, then?” Rorschach asks softly, picking up the threads of the conversation. Danielle snorts.

“You being a girl? That’s the opposite of a problem.” Danielle stops, brow furrowing. “...Is it a problem for you?” Rorschach stares into her mug of coffee, looking much smaller than usual.

“Should be,” she says, “but no.” Danielle sighs and reaches across the table for her partner’s hand again. This time she’s allowed to hold it. The skin is calloused, but still softer than she’d have expected (and she had thought about it, even before tonight).

They can navigate the evils of homosexuality later. For now, they drain the last dregs from their mugs with their hands entwined.

Rorschach looks at the clock over the stove and sighs. It’s past two. She reluctantly untangles her fingers from Danielle’s.

“Work, in the morning,” she explains. Danielle nods and stands up from her chair, collecting the mugs and putting them in the sink. When she turns around, Rorschach is hovering awkwardly near the door to the basement, twisting her gloved hands together. She hasn’t pulled the mask back down. Danielle walks over slowly and reaches out to still Rorschach’s restless hands. With her other hand she cups the back of Rorschach’s neck, twisting her fingers into the reddish curls there and tilting the shorter woman’s head up a little.

“May I?” she whispers. There’s a slight hesitation and then a barely perceptible nod in response.

It’s even sweeter this time.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm guessing this will be three or four chapters, each about this length, and I hope to have it finished in the next couple weeks. Hold me accountable!
> 
> Please point out any typos or tense inconsistencies you see! All comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated.
> 
> I'm trying to get myself writing again, and it feels right to return to this fandom. I've never actually finished more than a one-shot, but this is the fandom where I've gotten closest and the one that got me writing my own fanfiction in the first place.
> 
> I'm working on some longer original stories, so I'm hoping that putting myself out there a bit and posting smaller works in the meantime will keep my motivation up.


	2. Chapter 2

Danielle lies awake for a long time after Rorschach leaves, so unreasonably  _ happy _ that she can’t seem to quiet her mind enough for sleep.

She hasn’t kissed a woman in years; it must be nearly since college, jesus. She’s found it’s just  _ easier _ , dating men. Less chance of misunderstandings, when you don’t have to linger on the edge of friendship, trying to confess your feelings in some kind of code in case you’ve misread the situation. Danielle, being generally a pretty forward person, had done that once or twice before she learned. It was horribly embarrassing at best, and dangerous at worst.

So she’d forgotten just how nice it was: the soft, stubble-less skin; the smell, a bit lighter, with less musk underneath. Although, with Rorschach...probably best not to dwell on the smell.

Danielle rolls over and hugs herself beneath the covers, smiling uncontrollably. After kissing her, Rorschach had clung to the fabric of the Nite Owl suit for several minutes, breath shuddering not quite like sobs while Danielle murmured soothingly and tried not to bleed on her. It wasn’t even a bad cut. After they separated, they took their respective seats in the Owlship and hadn’t spoken the whole way back, not until Danielle invited Rorschach upstairs for coffee.

The whole evening is replaying over and over in her mind, until eventually she turns her thoughts forward, to all the potential futures they might have, even ridiculous ones she knows are impossible.

She’s picturing grandchildren when she finally drifts off, and she sleeps well.

* * *

Rorschach doesn’t show up for patrol the next evening, but there is a note left on the workbench in the basement:

_ See you tomorrow _

and her funny little “r”s at the bottom. Danielle is disappointed. She can’t wait to see Rorschach again—but one day is fine, really, better than she could have hoped for. She hadn’t seen her partner for a full week after the first time she came downstairs out of costume and introduced herself as Danielle.

Her  _ partner _ . She giggles.

She takes Archie out that night anyway, just to fly, just because she  _ can _ . And if Nite Owl takes the steering column up to the roof and pulls off the cowl, lets the wind whip through her hair; if Danielle shouts into the empty sky and the glittering city sprawled out below, “ _ Rorschach kissed me! _ ”, well. Nobody hears.

* * *

True to her word as always, Rorschach does come back the next day. She shuffles her feet awkwardly when Danielle first makes her way down to the Nest, but other than a quick hug in greeting, they set off for patrol like normal.

Danielle is glad to see her relax over the next hour or so, as it becomes clear that  _ this _ hasn’t changed.

It’s a quiet night (or maybe they aren’t looking very hard), so they head back a little earlier than usual. Danielle makes hot chocolate this time, and hardly believes it when Rorschach pauses at the kitchen table, half turns, and jerks her head towards the living room questioningly. They sit down on the couch together and talk about nothing for a while. It’s domestic in a way that wouldn’t have seemed possible three nights ago. It still doesn’t seem possible, frankly.

Danielle finally gets up to put their empty mugs away. When she returns, Rorschach has her hands folded in her lap and is staring down at them, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the still, tense look she gets when she’s working up the nerve to say something. She’s taken her scarf off; it’s folded neatly on the coffee table next to the discarded trench and hat.

She looks up at Danielle standing in the doorway and pats the couch next to her with a solemnity belying the gesture. Danielle sits down obediently, trying not to stare at the pale, freckly skin of Rorschach’s neck (which really shouldn’t be so fascinating anyway), and waits patiently for her to say something.

She never does. Instead, she takes a deep breath and, in one fluid movement, swings her leg over Danielle’s lap and plants her hands on her shoulders.

Danielle’s brain seems to short-circuit, and for some reason (self-preservation, probably) what she fixates on is how odd it feels to be looking  _ up _ at her partner for a change, rather than the fact that Rorschach is  _ straddling her lap _ and clutching at her sweater like it’s a lifeline.

She doesn’t dare move, barely even breathing as she stares round-eyed into the pools of ink where Rorschach’s eyes are. The mask is bunched way up over the bridge of her nose, pulled higher than Danielle has ever seen it. It makes the inkblots swirl into unfamiliar patterns, or maybe Rorschach is just making an expression she’s never seen before. It’s funny, she thinks, how seeing more of her partner’s face makes it harder to tell what she’s thinking. She’s flushing pink, though, a delicate bloom creeping over her cheeks and spreading down her neck.

Danielle carefully moves her right hand up to cup Rorschach’s cheek. There’s a small sigh and Rorschach leans slightly into the touch. Danielle thinks she might have closed her eyes. There is perfect stillness, and then she tenses again; surges forward, fists tugging Danielle up to meet her.

She doesn’t know what she was thinking before; there is nothing soft about this. It’s more like an attack than a kiss, but Danielle doesn’t mind at  _ all _ . There’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, and gasping for air when they finally break apart. Rorschach’s elbows are hooked around her neck and Danielle has one arm wrapped tightly around her waist and the other clutching the back of her skull and they are  _ impossibly _ close together. They seem to be breathing in and out as one being. Danielle never wants to move from this position—but Rorschach leans down hungrily to kiss her again, and that’s not bad either.

* * *

The next morning, Danielle half thinks she must have dreamt it. Rorschach and Nite Owl, making out on the couch like teenagers? But she goes to brush her teeth and there’s a hickey on her neck in the bathroom mirror. A hickey. From  _ Rorschach _ . It’s surreal.

Rorschach does turn up for patrol that night, thankfully. Danielle had been desperately hoping that she would, which is embarrassing and seems kind of needy, so she tries not to show it. She’s never exactly been a master of self control, though, and Rorschach is standing  _ very _ close. She can’t resist putting one arm around her waist, piloting Archie out through the tunnel one-handed. Glancing over, she can see a telltale flush of ink spread over Rorschach’s face. But she doesn’t move away, and Danielle only lets go when she needs both hands to steer.

* * *

Life takes on a dreamlike quality, and the next week feels like a ridiculous, giddy blur. They settle into a new post-patrol routine: Danielle showers while Rorschach makes coffee or scrounges through the cupboards for a snack, they laugh and talk or just sit together for a while, and then they inevitably end up collapsing on the couch together, cuddling and kissing until Rorschach has to head home. Danielle sinks onto her pillow every night grinning like an idiot and feeling unbelievably lucky.

Maybe Rorschach is riding a similar high, and maybe that’s what makes her sloppy tonight.

They’ve been split up, are fighting opposite each other, when Rorschach catches a punch to the gut. It’s not a particularly hard hit—most nights she’d have blocked it without a thought—and it surprises her more than it does any actual damage. But it does make her stagger back a couple steps and they’re fighting on a  _ roof _ .

They’d dropped from Archie into the middle of a rooftop drug deal—hoping to interrogate, more than anything else—but the involved parties were jumpier than expected and things escalated quickly. It turned into a fight before they had the chance to threaten a single broken digit. 

Nite Owl is too far away to do anything, but she has a perfect view when the attacker swings his fist again and Rorschach takes another step back to avoid it.

It feels like the ground has vanished from beneath Danielle’s feet, too.

She doesn’t watch Rorschach fall, closes her eyes instead and delivers a precise kick to her opponent’s head that drops them instantly. There must be something dangerous in her body language because the other one, the one who hit Rorschach, scarpers.

Danielle isn’t sure if she’s hyperventilating or not breathing at all as she approaches the edge of the roof. Then she hears a groan from over the side, and whatever thread is pulled taught inside her snaps. The ground feels solid again. Peering down, she sees swimming inkblots staring back from just a couple of yards below. Rorschach is lying flat on her back on the building’s sturdy fire escape, only her hat having fallen the full five stories to the ground. Danielle lowers herself down and Rorschach grunts again. She’s had the wind knocked out of her twice in less than ten seconds, and hasn’t gotten her breath back yet. Danielle carefully, reverently examines her head and neck to make sure nothing’s broken, then deftly scoops her up, bride style.

“Can stand,” grumbles Rorschach, lungs evidently working again.

“Nope,” says Danielle, and calls Archie.

She sets Rorschach gently in the copilot’s chair and makes sure she’s comfortable before going back to find the hat.

* * *

Danielle is still mostly in costume when they sit down together on the couch, having paused in the basement just long enough to pull off her cowl and goggles. She feels silly, dressed as an owl in her own living room, in a way that she doesn’t in public. She leans against Rorschach and lets her head rest on her shoulder.

“I get it, now,” she says quietly, after a long silence. She feels the questioning tilt of Rorschach’s head and glances at her face, continuing, “You seemed so  _ broken _ , the other night. When you...thought I’d been hurt. Now I understand.” Danielle had felt shattered herself, in that small eternity between seeing her partner step off the edge and seeing her alive on the fire escape. She turns her head, noses into Rorschach’s white scarf until she finds skin and presses a kiss there.

“...Yes.”

It’s only one word, one gravelly word rumbling in the throat beneath her lips, and she hadn’t even really asked a question. But from Rorschach, her partner who communicates in grunts and head-tilts and facial expressions no one can see—from Rorschach, one word can carry a thousand unspoken meanings. This one is a confession, an admission of vulnerability that nearly tears Danielle to pieces all over again, and she suddenly finds that she cannot bear to be left alone tonight. It’s Friday; she knows Rorschach doesn’t work tomorrow (knows that neither of them will have anything else planned).

“Stay?” It comes out more pleading than she intended—but Rorschach just bared a piece of her soul so it’s only fair that she be vulnerable tonight, too.

She is relieved but not surprised when Rorschach nods.

* * *

Danielle leads Rorschach down the hall towards her room at the end, but Rorschach stops, opens the door to the guest room instead. For a moment she thinks this is all she gets, that sharing a bed crosses the invisible line she fears Rorschach has already drawn between them. Then she’s being pulled over the threshold, and she isn’t particularly attached to her own bed anyway.

They stand facing each other in the gloom for several moments before Danielle lifts up Rorschach’s hand and pecks a kiss on the back of it.

“I’m going to go get changed,” she whispers into the knuckles. It feels like a whispering sort of moment. “You can...well, I hope you’ll stay of course, but it’s fine if you—change your mind, or whatever. I—uhm, I don’t, I mean...” she trails off, fumbling. She can’t figure out how to say  _ Don’t worry, I’m not expecting sex or anything  _ without alarming Rorschach by introducing the subject in the first place. (And, equally important but probably less relevant, she really doesn’t want Rorschach thinking she’s  _ opposed _ to the idea.) “I just need you close tonight,” she settles on. Rorschach squeezes her hand like a person familiar with the concept of reassuring someone, but who has never had the opportunity to try it themselves.

“Will be here,” and the complete lack of affected growl to her voice is reassurance enough in itself.

So Danielle heads to her own room, finds some of her dorky owl printed sleep-shorts and a soft old tee for a nightshirt. It occurs to her that she should have offered to lend Rorschach some pajamas, but she decides that there’s no way she (either of them, if she’s honest) would be ready for that kind of intimacy. Anyway, they’d never fit.

She changes slowly, wanting to give Rorschach time to settle physically and mentally. She brushes her teeth, and flosses too as an afterthought. She really should get back into the habit of doing it every day, anyway.

It’s been at least ten minutes when Danielle pads barefoot back down the hall. She knocks lightly on the door; it’s cracked and swings open slightly at the touch. There’s an answering  _ nngk _ that probably means “come in” (and definitely  _ doesn’t _ mean “come hither”), so she slips into the room, pushing the door closed behind her. On the bed, Rorschach’s black and white visage stands out even in the weak light filtering through the curtains. The mask is rolled up so she can breathe (a tiny part of Danielle had hoped it would come  _ off _ , but that’s ridiculous), but the covers are pulled all the way up to her chin as an extra layer of protection. It looks a bit like the disembodied head of some alien with pale skin and huge, black eyes is sitting in the middle of the pillow. Mildly disconcerting, but to most people finding  _ Rorschach _ in their bed would be equally alarming (not to mention equally unlikely).

Danielle tiptoes over to the bed, inky alien eyes tracking her like the Mona Lisa. Rorschach is lying on her back, but she rolls over to face Danielle as she crawls under the blankets. She keeps a careful distance between them, but Rorschach makes a noise in her throat and scoots closer. Danielle reaches for her hands and they meet in the middle, breath warming the space between them. Rorschach is smiling, a slight but genuine upturn of lips that is remarkable for how normal it would be on anyone else’s face. Danielle leans forward and kisses her, first the tip of her nose, then the latex covering each eye, and finally that small, new smile.

They drift asleep facing each other, hands clasped and heads bent together.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Chapter two! It's looking like four chapters total.
> 
> Chapter three will be my attempt at ~steamy~, so we'll see how that goes. The character development involved is important enough that I don't want to just do a tasteful cutaway, but I haven't ever tried to write a sex scene so it probably won't end up very explicit.
> 
> Comments, complaints, criticisms always welcome! :)


End file.
